The journey from Texas to New York felt endless—miles of clouds, silence, and restless thoughts.
I pressed my forehead against the bus window, watching the scenery blur into watercolor streaks. Every town we passed was another reminder that I was leaving everything familiar behind.
Mom kept talking softly beside me, filling the air with small comforts—Bible verses, plans, gentle reminders that this was God's will. Dad drove, eyes steady on the road, while my little brother hummed along to music in his headphones.
When we finally reached Triple H College, I felt my heartbeat stumble. The place was bigger than I imagined—wide lawns, tall brick buildings, students everywhere. It was loud, alive, full of motion. I felt anything but.
Inside the dorms, the air buzzed with chatter and laughter.
"Hey! You must be new," a girl said, offering a bright smile and a handshake.
"Yeah. Amelia," I replied, my voice smaller than I intended.
"I'm Doja," she said easily. "Welcome to the madhouse."
I managed a smile. Maybe things wouldn't be so bad.
An hour later, I met up with my cousin, Anita—familiar and grounding, like a thread tying me to home.
"Come on, I'll show you the room," she said, tugging my suitcase down the hallway.
Our roommates were already unpacking: Doja, all quick wit and restless energy, and Pearl Charis, quiet and thoughtful, her movements soft and precise.
"Babe, are you hungry? Let's hit the canteen before it's crowded," Doja said, already slipping her shoes on.
Before I could hesitate, she had us all moving.
The canteen was a blur of voices and unfamiliar smells—fried food, coffee, something sweet. We sat together, sharing awkward laughs and first-day nerves.
Doja talked fast, her stories tumbling over each other. Pearl listened more than she spoke, offering small, reassuring smiles. Anita teased me gently about my wide-eyed wonder.
For a moment, surrounded by their easy laughter, I almost felt like I belonged.
But later that night, when the hallway lights dimmed and the building grew quiet, the emptiness crept back in. I lay awake, listening to rain against the window again—different city, same sound.
Would I ever really fit in here?
Or would I always be the girl from Texas—too quiet, too careful, still afraid of disappointing everyone, even God?